


Black-Tie Affair

by Ealasaid



Category: 1917 (Movie 2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Penguins, Crack, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dad Friends, Fatherhood, Fluff, Gen, Nature
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:35:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25905193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ealasaid/pseuds/Ealasaid
Summary: In which being emperor penguin dads in Antarctica is, like, basically the same as being WWI soldiers.  (Aka they are all penguin dads and brotherhood is still the order of the day.)[based on the animal documentary "Penguins: Spy in the Huddle," narrated by David Tennant]
Relationships: Joseph Blake & Lieutenant Richards, Joseph Blake & Tom Blake, Joseph Blake & William Schofield, Tom Blake & Lieutenant Richards, Tom Blake & William Schofield, William Schofield & Lieutenant Richards
Comments: 14
Kudos: 17





	1. Autumn

**Author's Note:**

  * For [writeyourownstory](https://archiveofourown.org/users/writeyourownstory/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to @scientistsinistral and @LadyCharity for graciously permitting me to borrow their OC, [Eloise Schofield](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1650028)!

Will squeezes into the huddle with the rest of the bachelors, the birds on either side of him shuffling a bit to make space. It's very cold and the storm has definitely set in. It's not one of the days-long blackout blizzards that are to come, but it's still nasty.

Suddenly, there is a squawk and a heavy weight collides with him and the penguin to his right, knocking them both off balance and letting precious heat escape. Both Will and the other penguin grunt with irritation as the birds around them complain vocally. 

"Sorry, sorry," the weight chitters, resolving into a plump young penguin. "Sorry, got a bit lost. Glad I found you lot, or I'd still be wandering!"

"What are you gabbing about?" demands the bird to Will's right. "Get in, already!"

This the younger penguin does with gusto, crowding in close. The birds around Will and the one to his right grumble and honk, but space is made, and soon the newcomer is snugged into the formation.

"This ice is absolutely mad!" the young penguin squawks, apparently not content with settling in to conserve energy. "Is it always this mazey? I miss the sea. You can just swim anywhere, no weird gaps or walls or anything!"

"Is this your first year back on the cap?" Will asks, surmising as much already.

"Absolutely!" the other chirps. "I've heard it's loads of fun. Haven't had too much of that yet, though -- walking is _hard."_

"You've done it before, surely," Will replies, amused. "You weren't hatched in the sea, after all."

"Well, yeah, but that was _ages_ ago!" He clacks his beak and stuffs his face against the same penguin as Will. "I'm Tom, by the way. What's your name?" 

"Will," says Will. 

And that's all it takes. Over the next five hours, Will learns all about Tom and his life in the sea. He hardly gets a word in edgewise, but he supposes that's not too bad -- Tom doesn't even notice when Will dozes off and, at the very least, it's more entertaining than the screaming winter winds.

# 🐧

The colony is already assembling into the massive grouping it should be. It's _loud;_ all around them are penguins who haven't seen each other since the last breeding season clacking bills in greeting and shrieking the latest gossip over every other bird in the vicinity.

Will squalls into the cacophony, rather annoyed; he's later than he'd have liked to be. That storm really delayed them. As it stands, he'll have hardly any chance of finding Eloise or Ellie this year.

"Is that Will?" someone new whistles, interrupting whatever Tom is chattering on about. Will turns -- he thinks he recognises that waddle. This penguin is coming up in the typical in-the-huddle stride -- flippers a bit out and beak tipped up -- but he does it just a tad more . . . confidently. It's definitely Ben. 

"Hullo, Ben," Will says, waddling over. "Just got here?"

"Same as you, I take it," says Ben, and rubs beaks congenially. They're old friends at this point; having spent the last two breeding seasons in the same part of the huddle does that. He whacks Will's bulk with a light flipper. "Have a good summer?"

Will can't help but preen. He took extra care this year to stuff himself to the crop. He's been successful the last three breeding seasons, but last year was a close call -- if Eloise hadn't gotten back in time, he'd have had to abandon chick.

"Well enough," he replies. "And you?"

Ben's always got a noble weight, well-distributed and impressive for all he's a good few centimetres shorter than Will. He's never had to abandon chick so far as Will knows, save for one season when his mate got eaten by an orca, but that was the season before Will first joined the colony and so before his time. This year is no different: Ben is downright portly and fluffs a bit to show off. 

"You've done alright this year but I'll have to take you with me next year," he says to Will and runs his beak affectionately through Will's chest feathers. "What do you do, swim it off faster than you put it on?"

Will swats him away and Ben cackles with laughter. It's at this point that Tom rejoins Will's company, barreling into him -- again -- but not sending Will tumbling this time. (It's been a long walk to get to the colony and this is not even the tenth time this has happened.)

"Will!" he shrills. "There's _girls!"_

Ben looks at him. "New friend?" he asks Will.

"New," Will replies succinctly, meaning that for however nice Tom is, Will hasn't spent a winter huddling with him for warmth. "Of course there are girls," he says to Tom. "It's breeding season."

Tom edges up close. "But what do I do?" he asks, sounding intimidated. "I mean -- there's so many! And they're so -- nice-looking!"

"Tom!" another penguin screeches. The crowds part: a stocky, equally plump penguin comes waddling through with impressive aggrievance. "Where have you _been?_ I've been looking all over for you!"

"Oh, hullo Joe," calls Ben. To Will, he says, "Chap I met hunting this summer. Good sense of humor. I figured he'd be fun to huddle with this year and invited him along."

Tom, meanwhile, has brightened immediately. "Joe! I got lost in the maze. Did you see the maze? How'd you get through?"

Joe is not a penguin familiar to Will, but Ben is vouching for him, which means he's not going to be a bad sort. He nods his head briefly at Will and then greets Tom by chucking him under the beak and bobbing around to look over the younger penguin.

"Of course I saw the maze. I went around it," Joe says, exasperated. Inspection satisfied, he pauses briefly to rub beaks with Tom before continuing, grackling: "Along with the rest of the group!"

This subdues Tom for approximately three seconds. "Oh. I wanted to see what it looked like!"

"And did you?"

"Well . . ."

"Joe," Ben says, interrupting what will no doubt be the same endlessly fascinating tale Will has already heard twice, "this is Will. Will, this is Joe. --And I take it you know Tom already?"

"Yeah!" Tom chirps, cheering up again. "Joe's my brother!"

"No, I'm not," Joe says.

"Yes you are! Mum told me we were, even if I was hatched a few seasons after you."

Joe flaps his flippers with vigor, clearly unable to express his feelings at the moment. Since it seems to be a gesture of equal parts relief and irritation, Will doesn't think Tom is in any danger of a territorial fight, yet.

"What's a brother?" Ben whistle-whispers to Will. Tom pokes at Joe with his beak.

"I don't know," Will whistle-whispers back, beneath Joe's startled squawk. "I guess they had the same mum?"

"How odd," Ben muses as the two "brothers" get in a slap-match, whacking each other with their flippers. "I don't remember meeting any other chicks my mum had."

"Me neither," Will replies. "Now that I see these two, I'm not sure I want to, honestly."

# 🐧

Greetings exchanged, they settle into the business of attracting a mate. Ben goes over Will with a beady eye, clucking over Will's seemingly inadequate volume, but eventually deems Will presentable (as though Will needed his seal of approval). For Tom, preening consists of him patiently enduring Joe's ministrations while nervously asking for advice, and then making a sincere (if clumsy) attempt to reciprocate neatening up Joe. (Ben and Will surreptitiously help him tuck a few wayward feathers in line when Tom wanders off to do . . . something.) Ben's appearance is pristine, but Will clucks and makes a show of straightening Ben's crown feathers anyway. (Ben is always impeccably turned-out but inevitably will become convinced he's somehow lacking if Will doesn't pretend otherwise.) 

Their appearances perfect, they spread out a bit and begin displaying. No need to crowd all the girls; there are plenty to go around.

Will expected that being later than he planned would mean that neither of his previous mates would be available. Eloise and Ellie were both punctual and practical; he had successfully raised chicks with both of them before (not at the same time, of course). So Will is surprised when Ellie, his mate from the season before last, plaps into view and responds to his vocalising with a raised beak of interest. He mirrors her posture immediately.

"I was wondering when you'd get here," she chirrs at him after the appropriate declaration period is passed and they are looking at each other again. "You're a bit late, aren't you?"

"A storm held my group up," Will explains, nuzzling her. "I thought I wouldn't get here in time, but I'm glad to see you didn't choose someone else."

"I was late too," she confesses as she reciprocates. "I'm glad we found each other nevertheless!" 

Partnership sealed, they go for a stroll through the colony. Ellie waddles a bit behind him but he knows it's synchronized; they've done this twice before and she is quite elegant when she puts her mind to it. He is pleased to show off what a fine mate he's found while they check out who else has been lucky thus far.

Ben seems to be chatting with a prospective mate, Will sees as they pass him, but it's hard to tell if they've declared and are just now getting to know each other or if Ben has been struck by some facet of her attributes and has gotten sidetracked extolling them first. Further on is Tom, who seems to have immediately found a partner -- they're both inexperienced enough that they haven't bothered strolling and are attempting to get right down to it, although Tom can't seem to figure out how to balance properly on his mate and keeps falling off. Will doesn't see Joe at all, but he could have missed Tom's "brother" -- he only just met the bird a few hours ago, after all.

After a while, it just seems right to stop. They've circumambulated this section of the colony and have fetched up against some ice-peaks; it's as nice a spot as any to get started. Perhaps it's just some seasons' worth of experience, but Will hasn't any trouble in his part in egg production, and soon after they are happily settled against each other. They've only a short time before it's laid, and it's nice to get caught up after two years' worth of being apart.

# 🐧

"It'll be fine," Will says soothingly to Ellie, who is suffering from postpartum egg jitters.

"I don't know," Ellie says, hunching a little over her brood-pouch. The egg inside, newly laid, is hidden from view.

Will stretches up, showing off his own perfectly adequate brood-pouch, ready for incubation duty. Ellie needs to get back to the sea so she can eat -- it takes a lot of energy to produce an egg in such a short span and she will starve if she doesn't go. "We've raised two chicks together before," Will coaxes. "And my chick last year survived, too. It'll be safe with me."

Ellie balks and backs up, honking unhappily. Will lets his fluff down and leans in to rub beaks non-threateningly until she's less defensive. During their honeymoon, she shared that her chick last year didn't survive: her mate abandoned it when she didn't come back in time and she spent half the season trying to adopt orphaned chicks, to no avail. It's only natural that she's worried.

But she will still die if she doesn't go, and that means that this chick will die, too. Will can't incubate, hatch, feed, and nurture a chick by himself, so he needs Ellie to give up the egg and go get something to _eat._

It takes a lot more reassurance and nuzzling and all of the good-will that Will has built up over the time they've spent while she was egg-heavy, but finally Ellie gingerly lets it roll onto the ice. Will just as gently transfers it into his brood-pouch, fast enough that it shouldn't suffer from the cold, and with a last anxious chirrup and preen, Ellie leaves.

Will ruffles all over and resettles his weight, distributing it more evenly around the hard shell and the precious individual growing inside. With Ellie gone, it's time to reacquaint himself with Ben and anyone else who hasn't failed to breed, as they will soon be spending a long winter rubbing shoulders and trading awful stories in pitch-dark. 

He runs into Joe first. Will is more surprised that he recognises Joe at all, so briefly did they meet, but Joe certainly remembers him and is positively beaming. His mate, a penguin named Sophia, has also just departed, and Joe is very proud as he shows off their egg. Will is delighted to do the same, feeling as always that slightly-awed shyness that comes from recognising one's own accomplishments when he lifts his fluff to show his and Ellie's creamy white egg. 

Together, the two of them find Ben basking in the wintry sun, smugly satisfied as only a new father can be. 

"I'm not even going to ask," Will says to him, in high spirits.

"You don't need to," Ben says lazily. Will and Joe both show him their eggs and Ben is well-pleased to show his in return, bragging that it is just a smidge larger than theirs and also everyone else's, too.

Tom is the last to find them, coming up as though he is walking on rocks, or something equally uncomfortable. He seems awestruck about it all and is surprisingly quiet. When Will and Joe and Ben all show him their eggs, he peers very closely before shyly showing his, and then makes some excuse about the chill so he can huddle in closer to Joe.

Will takes the time to give Tom a supporting preen, tugging loose feathers back into order. Will remembers his first egg and the weighty responsibility it seemed to carry, and he empathises with Tom's situation. First eggs are _scary._

For several days, the colony empties itself of females, all of whom lay their eggs -- or don't, having failed to breed -- and depart. Some males do, too. And then the sun stops rising entirely and night closes in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ben = Benjamin Richards
> 
> Thanks also to @writeyourownstory for basically reminding me that nature documentaries exist, thus spawning this fic!
> 
> Thanks also to the Longfic Lads and the Officers' Club for tl;dr: being incredible and supportive and willing to help me research random penguin shit!


	2. Winter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _IN THE ~~TRENCHES~~ HUDDLE_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> still absolutely TICKLED that I can use the penguin emoji as a divider

It is now the start of the Huddle. It's not quite as exciting as the thrilling two weeks of post-mating honeymoon -- who doesn't like cuddling up with an expecting sweetheart? -- but in Will's opinion it has its own particular attractions, especially in the companionship. 

The colony has shrunk to just over a thousand male penguins, all crowded together on the flatter ice. The winds are broken at least a bit by the icy mountain in the south, but it's still horribly cold, and that means packing themselves together tighter than a school of fish ever swims. They'll be here for several weeks, at least four times the amount of what they spent with their mates; as a result, penguins who've planned ahead have a partner already chosen: a sympathetic companion during this time is invaluable.

This means that Will sticks close to Ben and Ben doesn't let Will out of his sight. They first met two seasons ago and found each other more congenial company than the other penguins with whom they'd made prior arrangements; at the end of it, they'd agreed to try to meet up again during the next season. Last season, Ben had helped Will stay on his feet when Will's fat reserves started giving out, more than just physically: Will could not thank the older penguin enough for all his encouragement and consolation when Will had been forced to seriously consider abandoning his newly-hatched chick lest Will starve to death. 

Nearby are Joe and Tom, too, who appear to be acting as each other's companion. Well, Joe is, at least -- Tom is still learning. So far, Will thinks he likes both of them, but it's only been a very little while since the sun set and there is plenty of time to get to know them better.

Tom is dozing a little bit, leaning up against Joe. Will prods at him with his beak to wake him up because Tom isn't totally asleep and Will has a question for him and Joe.

"If you're "brothers" and had the same mum, how did you recognise each other?" Will wants to know. "You never said."

Ben clicks in interested agreement. "Yes, how did you?" he wants to know. "I don't think I remember my mum very much, and it's not like you'd know how Joe sang."

Joe shakes his head vigorously and leans it backwards, clearly dismayed. "We're not brothers," he groans, just as Tom starts to chirp with eagerness.

"That's right, I haven't told you this one, yet!" he says with excitement. Will rather doubts that -- Tom chattered non-stop for the first few days -- but Will honestly can't remember if Tom has told them or not; Will didn't always bother to stay awake through it, trusting that most of the stories would be repeated eventually. "So mum told me I had an older brother, you know? And that his name was Joe and he was a lot like me but, I mean, obviously a little older, she raised him two seasons before me with his dad. But she told me to keep a lookout for any penguins named Joe who sang like me because he's family!"

"And I take it you eventually ran into each other, then?" Ben asks.

"Oh yes. I think I was two, then, but when I was hunting one summer I saw this penguin who was swimming a lot like me and he liked the same kinds of squid and so I followed him around until I could hear him sing and when he told me his name was Joe I knew he was my brother!"

"What in the sea is a 'brother'?" one of the penguins in front of them asks, clearly listening in on their conversation. Will thinks this one's name is Rossi.

"Meanwhile," Joe says, taking up the thread of the story, "I have no idea what this bird is doing -- I think he's a few feathers short of a full fledge. He just starts following me everywhere insisting we've got the same mum and that we should be friends--"

"That's what mum said!" Tom objects, but it's clearly an old objection and only being said for familiarity's sake.

"--and he doesn't leave me alone! He even follows me to the ice shelf when autumn starts and I had to peck him a few times to finally get him to go back to the sea--"

Tom is sulking a bit, now. "Thought we were friends," he mumbles, ducking his head to hide his face.

Joe lets out a low trill and runs his beak over Tom's crown. "You were definitely too young," he says, both apologising and chastising. "You thought we were going to do some sort of hunting on the ice!" 

Tom butts his head against Joe, which seems to be his way of accepting it. Will clicks in amusement.

"You're what, four? How'd you meet up again after that season?" he wants to know. Usually, unless birds make arrangements to leave together or fish in the same area, it's next to impossible to meet up with any particular penguin off the ice.

"Eh, he came back in the summer," Tom says. "And then we fished together some more! I thought about following him that year, but I was still hungry when he hooted about leaving, so I didn't go."

"And now here you are," Ben concludes. 

Joe shrugs, a bit embarrassed. "Seemed like I should bring him with me if he was so keen on following," he says.

"What a nice story," Will comments, thinking it a bit odd, personally. Still, it is rather sweet nonetheless.

# 🐧

But enquiring about each other's personal relationships isn't all that happens in the Huddle. After a few weeks, talk turns to mates. 

"She's a tart," brays Ed in the dark. He's a lanky penguin who doesn't look like he's nearly fat enough to survive the long night, but he's certainly got no shortage of fire in him -- there's a scar down one eye that speaks to a close call of some sort, and his temper is scathing. "Sharp beak, fantastic tail! Damned hormones."

"A tart, eh?" Ben whistles his interest. "What's her name?"

Ed haws in disdain. "I didn't bother asking," he says, beak in the air. "I don't intend to mate with her ever again."

"It was Emily," his friend Ian tells Ben. "She's perfectly lovely. Ed just hates everything."

Ed grackles in irritation but calms down when Ian rubs beaks with him.

"Well, I found a perfect hen this year," Ben crows. "Lydia, her name is. Absolutely gorgeous -- she had lovely golden feathers all down her belly. She laid the biggest egg in the colony!"

Will and Joe both squawk and start pecking at him. Ben still hasn't shut up about his egg. He cackles as they go for him.

"How about you, Tom?" Will asks after a last, satisfied peck (and then a quick, affectionate preen so Ben knows he's not serious), redirecting his friend before Ben can go off about his and his mate's prowess again. "Who was your mate?"

"Hmm? Oh, I dunno, I was -- er, we were -- erm. Rose?" Tom thinks about it. "No, maybe Rhubarb. Barbara?"

"She laid your egg, how do you not know her name?" Joe squawks, horrified.

"I dunno, we had more important things to think about!" Tom squeaks, shuffling with embarrassment. It's taken up by the rest of the penguins around them and there's a few minutes where everyone edges further in towards the center, a wave of movement that ripples through this part of the Huddle. "How about you?" Tom adds when the penguins are satisfied.

"Oh, Ellie was my mate this year," Will says, feeling a brief bit of pride at having managed to snag her again. "We've raised two chicks together already, so we know we're dependable."

"Oh, wasn't she the one from the season before last?" Ben asks. "Not the one who saved you last year, though."

"No, that was Eloise. She was my mate last season. Then it was Ellie the two seasons before that, and Eloise four seasons ago." Eloise was also a lovely penguin. Will didn't see her at all this year, so probably she found a partner in another part of the colony before he managed to arrive.

Ben clacks his beak approvingly. "Good female, she is. Another proper hen. Came just in the nick of time!"

Will leans in and tucks his head against Ben's shoulder. "Wouldn't have lasted that long without you around to keep my spirits up," he churrs, feeling a swell of fondness. Ben preens Will's eye streaks, returning the affection.

# 🐧

The blizzards close in. They've Huddled for at least half the time they should and time starts to lose a lot of meaning.

This is the darkest part of the night. Now is when they struggle to stay awake, drowsing in and out of sleep, barely coming awake outside of when the colony jostles to change position. In the face of the shrieking snow, not much conversation can be held, save on the lower frequency, and even that's hard to follow.

Will and Ben lean on each other most often during this time. If they angle it right, they can rest their beaks against the back of the penguin in front of them, close enough that they can exchange a few words every so often. With Tom and Joe, there are some new configurations -- the three of them tucked up against Will (the tallest), or Will and Ben and Joe cuddling around Tom (the shortest), or Tom and Will paired up to one side and Ben and Joe paired up next to them. It just depends on how the crowd in the Huddle ripples.

# 🐧

When the midwinter blizzards subside, the lazy winter nights of companionable entertainment take on a new edge. Every penguin knows it is just that much closer to the chicks hatching and anxiety starts to thrum through the colony.

There are so many questions for the hatchings. For the penguins who may have let their eggs get away from them, fears that the shell rested on ice too long loom large. For the penguins who haven't, the worry becomes whether their mates will return in time -- or at all. For penguins who have lost their eggs entirely, everything is a mix of jealousy and irritation at having to wait until more male penguins are leaving the huddle, with it being too dangerous to travel alone in this weather. In other words, the Huddle is restless and tempers are short.

"I'm bored," Tom complains, disbelieving. "I've never been so bored in my life."

Will only half listens. Ben is chirruping softly in pleasure whilst Will smooths those feathers of his that have become misaligned from the beaks and flippers of the penguins around them. It's soothing for both of them, and anything soothing is a tremendous boon when one starts to get a bit featherbrained from being confined in the closely-packed Huddle with hunger and anxiousness scraping out one's insides.

"And I'm hungry," Tom adds, ending with a grumpy whistle. "I thought breeding seasons were supposed to be _fun."_

"That looks nice," Joe cheeps sleepily from the other side of Tom, ignoring his "brother" penguin and watching Will and Ben with interest. "Do me next?"

"When next we're close," Will promises after a last judicious stroke of his beak through Ben's feathers. "But maybe Tom can help?"

"Do I have to?" Tom whines. Will sees that he's reached the point of numb sleepy hunger where almost all goodwill is exhausted.

"How about we do you instead?" Will coaxes. "C'mon, you'll feel better after we straighten your feathers for you."

Joe rouses himself enough to put energy into being brisk as he starts preening Tom. "Here, this makes me feel better," he offers, and digs his beak into the feathers around Tom's shoulders. Will tackles Tom's neck feathers, pausing every so often to smooth his beak over the top of Tom's head. Tom grumbles a lot at first, but eventually subsides and relaxes a bit.

Within another week, the storms have subsided and the faintest light has started to appear every so often on the horizon -- the first sign of the sun. With it comes the realisation that most of them haven't eaten in almost two full months -- and they won't be able to eat for another few weeks, still. Everyone becomes fixated on food.

"Plump squid," Tom whistles with longing, for hours on end. "Juicy silverfish. Crunchy krill. Oooh I'm _starving!"_

Ben, meanwhile, becomes fixated on Will not eating enough. "That's it," he declares one morning. "I can see you wasting away -- you need to eat more. You're coming with me next summer."

"I did just fine this summer," Will objects. "I'll make it!"

"Too late," Ben says. He starts pecking lightly at Will's chest and shoulders as though to illustrate his point, even though Will isn't precisely skeletal just yet. "You're coming with me. You'll finally show up properly weighty. Just look at Joe and Tom, here -- Tom's several seasons younger than you and he's still cutting a more impressive figure!"

"You can't keep inviting all of us to go hunting, Ben," Joe contributes before Will can do something silly, like get into a pecking match with his friend. Joe sounds amused. "Bring him along and we're liable to cut a _less_ impressive figure next year."

"I don't care," Ben says stubbornly. Will knows what really matters is whether their chicks are on the same feeding schedule -- it's easier to hunt together in the summer if they leave the ice cap at the same time -- but before that, of course, their eggs need to hatch. 

# 🐧

The mornings get longer and longer. The Huddle is no longer so much of a necessity as it was; now they are freer to break out of it and walk around with the sun up and providing some additional warmth. And then, one morning, Will feels the tiniest thump in his brood pouch.

He blinks awake and shakes himself to get his feathers fluffed free. He'd know that little nudge anywhere, having felt it four times before now. Carefully he stretches up, lifting his fluff from his egg, and bends down to see what can be seen.

A tiny hole. A soft peep from inside. Will sings encouragement back, then carefully turns the egg so that the hole is facing his body, and a little further from the cold of the air beyond his belly feathers. 

"Oh! Is it hatching?" Tom asks, noticing. Will whistles affirmation and excitement, both.

"So's mine," Joe says, half-asleep. "Has been for a while."

"What! You should have said something!"

"Chicks hatch when they hatch," Joe says practically. "Could do with a bit of a check, though, I suppose."

With that, he stretches up and reveals a strange sight: it's half-chick, half-shell. The chick is a tiny crumpled thing, and peeps querulously at the light as it is revealed.

"Wow!" Tom whistles. _"Wow."_

Joe chirps in surprise and gets absorbed in helping clear away bits of broken shell, tidying up his pouch with a neat touch of his beak. He croons to his chick as he goes, stopping every so often to lower his fluff and let the chick warm up again.

Will offers him a congratulatory beak-rubbing when Joe has things cleared to his satisfaction. "It's lovely," Will tells him sincerely. "It's a fine chick."

Tom follows Will's lead and copies the gesture. "It's so little," he says, awed. He turns to Will. "You should check on yours, too!"

Amused, Will complies. It sounds like Tom is getting chick fever. By now, the shell has started to split in a large crack, but the chick hasn't freed itself yet. "Still a bit to go," he says to Tom, who is watching avidly.

Joe waddles closer, gently, and lifts his fluff again so his chick can see. It starts to cheep at the cold; Will feels an answering tapping from the egg. Joe strokes it soothingly with his beak and tucks it away again.

By the time the day is through, Will's chick has emerged fully and is already starting to peep whenever it hears Joe's chick cheeping. Ben thumped him with a flipper and lavished him with compliments about its lungs, then showed that his was starting to hatch, too, and pestered Will to have his chick encourage Ben's still-hatching one every time Will checked on his brood pouch. 

Tom's is the last to hatch, emerging a full day after Ben's frees itself. He's all in a tizzy, looking at it every few minutes.

"Stop doing that," Joe clucks at him, finally. "It'll get too cold!"

"But what if I crush it?" Tom frets. "It's not got a shell around it anymore. And it's so _small!"_

Will pats the youngest penguin soothingly. He's seen it again and again -- first-time fathers and mothers both are always terrified about squishing the little ones. "Don't worry so much," he advises. "Try to relax. You've already got down how to walk with an egg in your pouch; just keep walking the same way, and it'll be fine."

"If you say so," Tom says doubtfully, but he does stop checking on his chick quite so often. And after a few more days, the novelty wears off. 

Now, every penguin in the colony becomes consumed by one question: when will their mates return?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ed = Edmund Mackenzie  
> Ian = Adrian Hepburn


	3. Spring, pt. I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the girls are back!

Sometimes, especially early during those delirious days with a newly-hatched chick, Will thinks he remembers the taste of his father's crop-milk. In his less fanciful moods he understands more practically that he's just being over-affected by the taste of his own whenever he feeds his chick for those first several days between its hatching and its mother's return. He's very hungry.

"Do you ever think you're tasting your first meal all over again?" Ben whistle-whispers quietly to Will after they finish their umpteenth feeding.

"Every single time," Will replies. He feels the chick wriggling in his brood pouch, settling itself more comfortably after a generous meal. Will tries not to think so longingly of the sea and fresh fish. Besides, he can go for at least a few more days before he faces any real trouble.

Ben must pick up on some of these thoughts -- he begins to preen Will. "You're doing alright, aren't you?" Ben asks. His friend keeps the tone jovial, but Will hears the anxiousness anyway.

"I'm doing fine. I told you, I took extra care this season," Will reassures him, stretching his neck up so that Ben can get at the feathers beneath Will's chin. Ben's got a deft touch with his beak and Will churrs his appreciation. "Really, you don't need to worry about me."

Ben clucks. "Too late," he says, movements brisk. "You were in a right state last season."

"So what, you'll have leftover jitters from now on?" Will jokes.

Ben hoots. "Probably," he says, amused.

Next to them, Joe is doing something similar with Tom. Tom has been wilting dramatically, even though, physically speaking, he's probably the most well-off out of all of them. Will can feel his feathers practically draping around him with how much weight he's lost; Ben and Joe are in a similar state. While Tom has definitely lost some of his bulk, he still seems to have more beneath his feathers than not.

Tom takes it less-graciously than Will does, submitting to Joe's ministrations and quizzing with ill-concealed frustration. He's hungry and anxious. Will and Joe and Ben all know that Tom hasn't gone so long without eating in his life ever before, and that helps them put up with his shorter temper, but the anxiety makes him ecstatic and mopey by turns and all the preening in the world doesn't help ease it.

Suddenly, a call goes up from the other end of the colony. It cuts through the Arctic air, rising high above the grumbling paternal masses:  _ mates! The mates have returned! _

It's a thrilling sound. They are all filled with a surge of excitement, newly energized now that their long wait is over. Now, it doesn't mean that  _ Ellie _ has returned, of course, Will reminds himself -- but it does mean that the first of the females have come back, and that means the rest of them will return soon, too.

#  🐧

The females trickle back -- first in clumps, one or two at a time, and then in a steady stream.

Ben and Joe and Will teach Tom about the identity parades, where they all walk in a line so that a female from their part of the colony can watch the male birds pass and easily pick out her mate instead of squalling into a crowd for days and days. Ben is picked out of the lineup first when it comes to their area, spotted by his Lydia almost immediately. Will pulls out of the line to watch as Ben and Lydia exchange greetings and felicitations and all the necessary catching-up to do. 

And then Ben refuses to go, even after he's passed over little Jenny-chick to Lydia's care.

"Go on, get," Will tells him, exasperated.

"Not without you, you bugger," Ben says foully. "I mean to see that you  _ eat." _

"Don't be foolish," Lydia scolds. "You need to eat, too, you know. And the sea is further away than usual!"

"He nearly starved last year," Ben insists. "He's just feathers and bones, now!"

"You starving or your chick starving isn't going to help with that," Will clacks out in the face of Ben's obstinacy. It's clear that Ben's Huddle-fixation is still preying on him, almost certainly made worse by not having eaten a solid meal in three months. Will tries a different tack and softens his next statement with a beak rub. "Tell you what -- remember where we almost got eaten by that humpback who migrated early? I'll meet you there, three days after you reach the sea."

Ben is not satisfied by this, but he is persuaded. He leaves, finally.

Ellie arrives the very next day, accompanied by Tom's Rhubarb. Ellie trills both relief and joy at seeing Will waiting for her, chick in pouch, and greets him with an affectionate nuzzle that he is all too happy to reciprocate.

"Good hunting?" he asks. She is sleekly plump once again, which bodes well for their chick's survival. 

"The best," she chirps, briefly smug. Then she looks longingly at his brood pouch. "Is it alright?"

Obligingly, Will shows their chick. It is a male and now twice the size of when it hatched, but it is still very small. It cheeps sleepily at the light when Will raises his fluff and then starts peeping more demandingly for food. Ellie croons a welcome. 

Transferring the chick is always a delicate process. It's rather like transferring the egg, but Ellie has the harder job of trying to scoop up something that wriggles and peeps instead of a smooth, round object. She succeeds with little trouble, though, and spends a few moments gently tucking the chick into a more secure position, cooing softly to encourage it.

"I'll be back as soon as I can," Will promises, loathe to leave their chick though he knows he needs to eat.

Nearby, Tom and Rhubarb are in a standoff. It's fairly clear to Will that Tom can't bring himself to let his mate take Rhubarb-chick. It happens, often, when penguins in the Huddle fixate on their chicks through the long night and parting with them becomes too much of a wrench. Normally Joe would be the one to help persuade Tom otherwise, but Joe's still stuck in the identity parade, and too far to notice what's going on.

"Let me take her," Tom's mate squawks with growing irritation. "I'm all set. You get along now -- you've gotten so thin! Go get something for yourself and then hunt our chick's next month's worth, will you?"

Tom's hunching over his pouch, a little wild-eyed, looking ready to peck. Will smoothly intercedes, coming over and rubbing beaks with Tom, redirecting his attention. "I'm leaving now myself," he coaxes the younger penguin. "Come on -- we can walk there together and get something to eat. How about some of that squid you like?"

"But Rhubarb-chick," Tom protests. "I can't leave it!"

"You named it  _ Rhubarb?" _ his mate demands, sounding appalled. 

"It's . . . after you?" Tom ventures.

She pecks him. "My name is Ginger!"

"What he means to say is, he meant it to complement yours," Will croons persuasively. "Which is why he is going to pass it over and come hunting with me."

This smooths some feathers back into place for her, but rouses Tom again. "I can't!" he squeaks, starting to look frantic again. "What if I drop it? What if I step on it? What if neither of us picks it up in time and it freezes --"

Will thwacks him gently with a flipper. "Don't overthink it," he advises. "You picked up the egg alright -- Ginger will pick up the chick just fine."

That's not the end of it. It takes some more time, almost enough for Joe to be back within shrieking distance. But finally, Tom is parted from his chick. Ginger takes charge of it in time and Rhubarb-chick is soon snugged away safely in her brood pouch.

"Let's go," Will says companionably, now abominably hungry. He shrills the news to Joe, who waves a flipper in response. It will take Will and Tom several days to get to the sea yet -- the sooner they start off, the sooner they will both get their first meal. 

#  🐧

The trek to the sea is not really arduous, just long. There are two brief storms that hit, but they are a delay of only hours, not days, so Will and Tom and the other male penguins who are traveling with them aren't overly worried. 

Ben's Lydia wasn't wrong. The sea isn't the closest to them, this year, not by a long shot. Will remembers it being closer last year; this year it takes at least an extra day to reach the edge. They'll have to hunt quickly to make it back in time. Ellie, despite nearly two months at sea, still hasn't the reserves to fast for months on end, and Will can't replace what he's lost over the last three months in only a few weeks. It is crucial that he gain enough weight to stretch out his condition for the next month and, on top of that, catch enough squid and fish that he can feed their chick throughout that time as well -- and all as fast as possible.

Tom trills with exhilaration when they spot it and actually quickens his steps from the steady plod they've settled into. He immediately slips on the ice.

"Careful, now," Will tells him. "Not too fast -- we'll get there soon enough."

Tom doesn't bother standing. He squalls his frustration and rolls onto his stomach, electing to sled along on his belly instead. "I just want to eat," he creels.

Will understands wholeheartedly. He's starting to feel desperate, a sign that he's at the edge of his limit. In a moment of whimsy, he also decides to have a go sledding alongside Tom towards the sea. It'll feel more like swimming, that's for sure.

When they reach the edge of the ice, they dive into the sea without hesitation. Chilly as it is, the sea feels like freedom! After days of plodding slowly on the ice, awkward and ungainly,  _ now _ Will is speeding along with a flick of his flippers. It's  _ wonderful. _

Just as he has started to move past the elation of greater mobility -- a flash of silver.  _ Food. _

Everything else is driven from his mind and they hunt. They hunt for quite a while, darting in and out of the shadows cast from ice floes above, diving up and down and whichever way the fish or squid dart this time. Finally, Will has eaten enough that he isn't bound by mindless hunger and he starts to remember that he has obligations. 

It's hard to judge how much time has passed, but he figures -- oh, several hours at the least. He persuades Tom to resurface and lets him know that Will is heading for where he agreed to meet Ben. 

"'Kay," Tom chirrs around a mouthful of fish. "I'll see you back at the colony if I don't see you here before I go."

Will whistles his goodbye and goes off to find Ben, whom he finds a day later.

Ben, spotting him, corkscrews around and nearly rams into Will underwater. Will completes the appropriate underwater greeting with an extra headbutt and flipper-trailing to indicate his happiness at seeing Ben again. Were they above water, he has no doubt Ben would do something sappy, like croon, but being underwater it's only the physical gestures available to them until they next surface for air.

Ben located, hunting takes precedence again. With the two of them working together, it isn't long before Will finally feels free of the horrific fatigue of fasting. They spend the next few weeks eating until they're fit to burst (and then a little more, just in case). 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> vague world-building notes: all chick names have the suffix of "-chick" added bc they are chicks and not full birbs yet. pronouns are "it" for the same reason. when the chick fledges, the suffix is dropped and they get pronouns based on biological sex ~~bc I started this as a joke and didn't think to do anything earth-shattering with pronouns~~
> 
> Spring, pt. II will be up in a few days for sure!


	4. Spring, pt. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The chicks grow up!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (might still come back and tweak this but I've been staring at it too long)

Will and Ben catch Joe and Tom on the return trip, somehow managing to all wind up in the same group heading back. 

"Hullo there!" Tom trills as they catch up. He's in high spirits. Enthusiastically he greets them with exuberant beak rubs and even a quick, intimate preening. Joe shakes his head in despair at his "brother's" presumption and confines himself to a more reserved beak rubbing for them both. "Bloody dull without you around. Next time, let's stick together, eh?"

"Should be possible," Will says amiably as he and Ben fall in with them and they all start back. "There'll be plenty of opportunities to come, to be sure."

Tom clicks in surprise. "I thought we were back for a month?"

Joe chirrups thoughtfully. "More like a few weeks," he says. "They're almost old enough to be left alone while we fish."

"No more starving," Ben says firmly, whacking Will with a light flipper. He'd been an absolute terror making sure Will stuffed himself. "We feed them until they double in size again and then we just do a lot of walking."

Tom squawks, clearly dismayed. "You mean we aren't spending that much time with the chicks anymore?"

"Oh, there'll be a few weeks in there," Joe says vaguely. "Don't worry, you'll get plenty of time with Rhubarb-chick."

Returning to their mates and chicks perhaps six weeks after they left, they find the colony transformed. Joe and Will and Ben all immediately start singing when they're close enough -- Tom follows their example. 

It takes some time to find the area they hatched their chicks, but there they at last receive a response. Lydia and Sophia emerge first, coming to greet Ben and Joe. They do not have their chicks.

"What happened?" Tom squawks in alarm. "Where are they?"

Joe hears this and breaks off his greeting to Sophia to run his beak over Tom's head in a calming gesture. "Is it already that big?" he asks her. 

Sophia cackles and flaps her flippers. "And more trouble than it's worth," she croons, amused. "It's in the creche. Go sing for it; it'll come running. It's very hungry."

"As are you, I imagine," Joe replies, sweetly, and nuzzles her. She returns the gesture affectionately.

Will, meanwhile, waddles straight for the creche, tugging Tom along. "See how they're all gathered up?" he says, bobbing his head in the direction of the little Huddle the chicks have been encouraged to form. There's dozens of them in this closest one, little mounds of cheeping grey fluff. "Go ahead and call for your chick -- perhaps it's in this one."

With that, Will creels out an inquiry. He trills, ending with an inflection up to make it a question. Near the edge of the little Huddle, a chick -- twice as large as what he remembers leaving -- turns and starts peeping madly, reacting to his call. Frantically, it flaps its way free of the crush of tiny bodies.

Will greets this chick with a second inquiry, just in case. This time the chick trills a familiar call in response, the one Will heard every time it was hungry in that seemingly-endless period between its hatching and Ellie's return. He croons welcome and his chick tucks itself up against him and begs for a meal.

After the feeding, Will combs through the downy fluff with his beak to get a better estimate of his chick's growth. It's plump and round and, he sees, easily as large as the largest members of the creche. That's good, very good.

"Welcome back," Ellie sings to him when he straightens up. They rub beaks, Will doing his best to communicate how pleased he is that she is his mate this season through the gesture. She's done a fine job with their chick.

"What's its name?" he asks. She always insists on naming the chicks herself, and he's been wondering what she would choose for their first male chick.

"This is Tych-chick," she says proudly, nudging Tych-chick with her beak. Then she nudges him back towards the creche. "Are you all set for the next few weeks?"

"Yes," Will says. "Are you hungry?"

"Not so much I can't spend a moment more," she chirrs, and cuddles up close. They renew their acquaintance for a little while -- after all, this is probably the last time they'll find they're both at the colony until next year, and Will would like to honor her fantastic chick-minding skills whilst he was off trying to recover.

Then she breaks it off to start her trek back to the sea, and Will settles in for a brief rest. Perhaps they'll mate again next year. In the meantime, though, they've both still got work to do.

# 🐧

A day or so of lazing about the colony is nice. The sun is up for longer and longer and there haven't been any storms for a week. In between feeding chicks and preening, basking in the sun is the favourite activity of all the birds present, a mixture of hungry mothers, well-fed fathers, and some birds who didn't breed but have stayed to keep an eye out for the chicks when, inevitably, every parent is either on their way to fish or on their way back from fishing for their chick's meals. 

Will finds Ben and Joe standing with each other, sun-drunk on the other side of the creche. He joins them.

"It's so nice to not be starving," Ben says after Will waddles around the heap of peeping grey chicks and comes over to greet them. "Or traveling. Or hunting."

"Rhubarb-chick!" they hear in the distance. All of them ignore it. Tom's being entirely too over-protective; at some point he'll figure out that the chicks are just fine on their own and follow the more sensible route, which is to stand back and let the chicks entertain themselves.

"It's nice to be full," Will agrees with Ben. "Your chicks are doing well?"

"Seems so," Joe says comfortably. Tom continues to squawk somewhere by the chicks. There's another creche nearby, too, that he should probably check if he can't find Rhubarb-chick in this one; Will makes a note to remind Tom if he comes by the three of them. "Mine's got a healthy set of lungs on it, certainly. Nearly deafens me every time I check to make sure it's mine." 

"Don't think it got that from you," Ben comments, eyes closed and beak tipped up to take full advantage of the sun's warmth. 

"Oh, no," Joe clicks agreeably, in the same posture. "Sophia is a screamer, though."

"How about Jenny-chick?" Will asks Ben, following the other birds' lead and closing his eyes. Maybe he should take a nap later. 

"Very agile," Ben says cheerfully. "Always makes it out of the creche in record time when I come round."

Several of the chicks start peeping in alarm. Will cracks an eye open; half the creche has tumbled over for some reason. There aren't any petrels about, and the chicks aren't on ice, so --

"Sorry! Sorry!" Tom squawks, near the center of the disturbance. He's . . . Will's not sure what he's doing, actually. Tom gingerly takes another step towards the middle of the creche and the other half tumbles over. He stops where he is and trills uncertainty, attempting to help right several of the chicks. At least two start begging for a meal and he looks at them, confounded.

"What're you doing, Tom?" Will calls before Tom does something silly, like feed chicks that aren't his. "Come on, get out of there. That's a chick-huddle."

"I was looking for Rhubarb-chick!" Tom chirps anxiously. He's now surrounded by begging chicks. "I don't think it's here, though . . . "

"Rhubarb-chick is perfectly fine wherever it is," Joe grackles to Tom reassuringly. 

"If Rhubarb-chick isn't answering, it's probably in the other creche," Will says, practically. "Come on, join us. The sun is lovely."

Tom looks down at the creeling chicks all begging for a meal around him. "Erm," he whistles, perplexed. "I don't know how to get out . . ."

"Walk," chorus Ben and Joe. "You won't hurt them, they'll be fine," Ben adds. "They've already all fallen once; what's another knock?"

Tom squeaks. _"How_ many chicks have you raised, again?" he demands.

"Five," Ben says, "and I'm starting to wonder if you aren't my seventh."

"Adopting him already?" Will chirrs, amused.

Ben pecks at him. "Not me, you," he haws with laughter, and thwacks at Will lightly. _"I_ only befriended his 'brother'!"

# 🐧

They only stay for a week. It's not as exhausting as that first, miraculous week with Tych-chick. He and Ben and Joe and Tom meander around the edge of whatever creche their chicks are in this time, and feed the chicks when they cheep, and nap in the sun (there are no storms through the whole time).

They watch the chicks grow, getting bigger by the day. Tych-chick is mischievous and perpetually teasing the other chicks in the creche, sometimes even cadging meals from other fathers who don't bother to check to make sure it's _their_ chick. Jenny-chick is sweet and often singing, but so far has shown none of the suffocatingly affectionate tendencies of its father. Joe's, Lily-chick, does indeed have a piercing trill -- it earns it many, many meals besides just Joe's.

But nothing compares to Rhubarb-chick. Tom feeds it non-stop, it seems (until Will and Ben and Joe finally knock him over and sit on him. At the rate Tom's going, he'll starve, and they can't have that), and it is already the largest chick in the creche. It has (according to the birds who didn't breed but are serving as chick-minders) faced down a petrel by itself. And, most bizarrely, it doesn't sing at all -- it just shrieks, entirely at random, but especially when Tom chases after it trying to stuff more squid down its gullet. (This doesn't happen as much after they all sit on Tom.) 

"That chick is not normal," Ben says, looking at it cock-eyed.

"That chick is going places," Will contends, squinting. "I'm not sure where, but it's going."

"Tom, don't think we don't see you sneaking off to feed it more," Joe squalls, ending Tom's attempt to do precisely that.

So this week is not as exhausting, no, but Will finds himself fatigued by the end of it, anyway. He knows it is normal, but it is _so_ frustrating trying to recover from the winter's fast. When they all waddle back to the sea at the end of it, he is only thankful that Ben is the most sympathetically bracing companion a bird could wish for: he has no trouble pecking Will until Will starts moving in the morning and is absolutely content to huddle together at night.

They reach the sea again (it doesn't take quite as long -- the ice cap is shrinking as summer looms) and spend a week hunting. Then, they go back to the colony and stuff as much of it as they can down their chicks' gullets. This is accomplished with a minimum of fuss (though prying Tom away from Rhubarb-chick after but a few days is about as rewarding as trying to pick the teeth of an orca), and in no time at all, they are back on the trek out.

"Last one," Joe whistles wearily. "We fish, and then feed, and then flee."

"Shrimp cocktails for everyone this summer," hoots Ben.

"This is the last?" Tom asks, anxious. "What? We're _leaving_ them?"

"We're not saying goodbye yet," Will soothes him, preening the younger penguin's crown feathers when Tom pauses as though he's going to head back. "We have one more trip to the sea and back, and _then_ we say goodbye."

"Oh," Tom chirrs, unhappy. "So soon?"

"It's almost summer," Joe tells him. "You won't be able to do anything if you don't recover during the summer."

"Think of trying to go through winter again, but right now," Will says, kindly.

Tom shudders. "Okay," he squawks. "Okay! But . . . do we have to?"

"Yes!" Will and Ben and Joe all shrill at him.

# 🐧

The last day in this year's colony is a nice one. It Is beautifully sunny and there isn't a cloud in the sky. 

Will finishes feeding Tych-chick the last meal Will's able to offer. Tych-chick leans back, blinking with satisfaction, looking for all in the world like it is ready for a nap. Will gives it a last affectionate preen.

"You be good," he says. "And don't swim too close to orcas, they're faster than you think."

Tych-chick chirps and submits to this with good grace -- for a minute, anyway. Then it is pulling away and waddling back to go squawk at some of its fellow chicks.

Will watches it go. It's almost as big as Will and Ellie. It gets one more feeding before it starts shedding its chick-down and fully fledges -- but Will won't be there for any of it, and this is the last he will see of this chick. If they ever meet again, Tych will be a penguin in his own right, and likely won't remember Will at all. 

\--But Will is the last to finish; he'd best get moving. Ben is waiting for Will (making good on his threats to take Will with him during the summer), and Joe is delaying only because Tom bargained with them all that he would leave when they all left, and none of them trust him to uphold his promise if the three of them aren't there to enforce it. Goodness knows he's still trying to edge closer to Rhubarb-chick (now fully _larger_ than Tom at this point) for a last feeding.

"All right," Will announces when he reaches them. Joe pecks at Tom when Tom starts to edge faster, just shy of making a break for it. "Let's head for home. I'm _starving."_

"Excellent," Ben says, skating until he is bracketing Tom on the other side and forcing the younger penguin to waddle quickly between him and Joe or risk slipping and falling flat on his beak. (Will takes up the rear, just in case.) "Now as it just so happens, I remember a particularly lively patch of sea near a shipwreck . . ."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> xoxoxo LOVE YOU ALL~


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